


Ring My Bell

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Librarian Stiles, M/M, Med Student Derek, mating games bonus round, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles bumps his head and meets an angel.</p><p>--</p><p>Written for the Week 6 Bonus Round at the Mating Games!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring My Bell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leela_cat (Leela)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/gifts).



> Written for the [Mating Games](http://mating-games.livejournal.com) Week 6 Prompt: Meet Cute. 
> 
> This is my version of the College AU/Librarian AU trope.
> 
> For Leela, who's always there for me. Love you, bb.

Stiles grumbled as he crawled under the circulation desk after the pen he'd dropped. It was dark down there, and dusty as hell, but of course Jackson, who worked the shift just before his, had 'lost' all the other pens, leaving Stiles only the one. The one that was currently _just_ close enough for him to slide the tip of his pinky finger under the desk drawer to scoot the pen toward him. When the pen peeked out, Stiles fist-pumped the air with one hand and grabbed the pen with the other.

Just as he was standing up, the circulation desk bell dinged and, startled, he flinched, slamming the back of his head hard against the underside of the desk.

"Ow shit, son of a mother... mmmm! FUCK! Ow!"

Backing out from under the desk, he stood up just to stomp his foot against the pain shooting through his body from the back of his skull. His skull that he would swear was currently caved in. Fuck, it hurt. 

Blinking past the spots in his vision, Stiles narrowed his eyes at the guy standing in front of the circulation desk, his hand hovering over the annoying-ass bell, lips parted in dismay as his eyes widened behind chunky black glasses. 

"Oh my god," the guy breathed, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were under there, I just..."

Stiles waved the hand not occupied holding his brains in at the guy. "Dude, it's fine. You didn't see me. It was an accident. I'm--"

"Holy shit, you're bleeding!" Like fucking _Superman_ leaping tall buildings, the guy was vaulting over the circulation desk (which was waist high on Stiles, who wasn't short by any means) and gently pulling Stiles' hand away from the back of his head. 

Stiles couldn't help it. He whimpered. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , it hurt.

"Is there someone who can look after the library for you?" the guy asked, gentle fingers carding through the hair at the back of Stiles' head as he assessed the damage.

"I, uh. Erica. She's in the stacks but she could..."

"Okay, why don't you call her and I'll walk you over to the clinic."

"You don't have to—"

"Hush. Yes, I do. Someone needs to stay with you in case you pass out." 

Pressure on his shoulders made Stiles turn toward the guy, and then _he_ was gasping. Somehow, during the pain-filled trauma of the past few minutes, he'd missed actually _seeing_ this guy and... holy shit. Holy shit. He was fucking _beautiful_. Stiles blinked stupidly, watching the eyes behind those glasses sort of shift colors from green to blue to brown to grey. But mostly green. With some blue and brown. More of a golden color actually. "Am I dead?" Stiles wondered aloud.

"Huh?"

"Are you an angel?"

The angel's eyes flared wide in concern and his lips parted again as a little noise escaped him, which drew Stiles' gaze down _to_ those lips. They were a really pretty pink and his mouth was surrounded by stubble that was exactly the right length. Not so much that it looked like a mountain man beard, but not scraggly like Scott's. 

And his nose was this straight, perfect thing. Artists of old would _weep_ to sculpt such a nose. And his _jawline_. Screw Superman, this guy was obviously Captain America with a jawline like that. 

Stiles' gaze just kept sliding down, over a muscular chest, a trim waist, thick thighs and... whoa. Feeling suddenly weak, Stiles stumbled forward, right into his angel's arms. Arms which went around him, picked him up gently, and held him against _that beautiful chest_.

"I am so okay with being dead," Stiles murmured, reaching up to see what that scruff would feel like against his fingertips. Oh, yeah. It was _niiiice_. 

"You're not dead." 

"Yeah, I dunno, dude. People like you don't exist."

"We're definitely taking you to the clinic."

"Stiles?!" The piercing shriek of Erica's voice made Stiles wince and tuck himself closer to his angel. 

"Make her stop yelling," he whimpered as his head started pounding anew.

"Are you Erica?" Stiles heard his angel say, and then there was the slow, sussurating sound of voices just spinning through his head. Or maybe his head was spinning through the voices. But it didn't matter. Because his angel was there to guard him. Stiles tipped his forehead over onto his angel's shoulder—mmm, muscles—and closed his eyes, letting the darkness enfold him.

~*~

"Mr Stilinski, nice of you to rejoin us," Dr Deaton said, smiling thinly when Stiles finally blinked his eyes open.

Feeling groggy, Stiles pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around. He was in the campus clinic. AGAIN. What the hell had he done this time?

"What...?"

"Mr Hale here brought you in with a head wound. We've cleaned you up and given you two stitches as well as some pain killers, which might make you a little woozy for a few hours. You sustained a mild concussion, but nothing a few days rest won't cure."

"A few days... But my classes!"

"I've emailed all your professors. They'll be forwarding your work to your university email. If you miss any exams, you can retake them when you return to school. All good?"

Stiles blinked, feeling like he'd heard all this before, but also feeling like he was hearing it from the bottom of a swimming pool. "Okay, yeah..."

"I'd like you to stay until someone is available to take you home. Your roommate, perhaps?"

"Scott? No, he's working. I think? What time is it?" _What day is it_ he wanted to add, but didn't. He actually _did_ want to get out of here.

"It's okay," he heard someone say from behind the little curtain that enclosed his bed. "I can take him back to his dorm. Or apartment. Whichever." The worry in the voice made Stiles want to sit up and soothe its owner, but the drugs in his system just laughed at that and kept his ass right where it was. Splayed out on the bed.

"Whozzat?"

"It's, um." The curtain pulled back to show a guy's head peeking worriedly around it. "Can I…?"

"Yes, we're finished here, Derek. Thank you."

"Thank _you_ , Dr Deaton," the guy said, and something about his voice, or his face, sparked a memory. 

Stiles gasped and pointed. "You're my angel!"

Deaton's lips twitched. "The medicine should wear off soon, Derek, if you'd prefer to wait here for that to happen."

"No, it's okay. I carried him here; I could probably carry him out if it came to that."

"You're welcome to one of the student wheelchairs."

Stiles looked back and forth between Deaton and… Derek, wondering at the familiarity they showed with one another. "Hey," he said, butting inelegantly into their conversation. "Who are _you_ , and how do you know _him_?"

Derek turned toward Stiles, a small frown drawing his thick eyebrows together as his gaze strayed toward the top of Stiles' head for a second before dropping to meet Stiles' again. "I'm Derek Hale. I'm a student at the med school. I've done a few clinical rotations here, which is how I met Dr Deaton. And I'm the one who accidentally put you here. I'm so sorry."

Stiles squinted, trying to remember. "There was… a bell. Oh! The circulation desk bell. God, I remember now. Dude, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't see me, you rang the bell. That's why it's there. At least you're not one of those assholes who walks up when I'm standing RIGHT THERE and just rings it over and over because they think it's funny."

Derek started to smile halfway through Stiles' rant, and by the time he was finished, beams of pure sunlight were exploding from his face. Or… well, something. It was a fairly apt metaphor, actually. Stiles felt blinded by the power of that smile. And somehow he found himself smiling back, just a big ol' goofy grin because it was impossible to watch this guy smile and _not_ smile in return.

"So, yeah," Stiles breathed. "Hi. I'm Stiles."

"Hi, Stiles. It's nice to meet you. Is it okay if I take you home?"

"Oh, buddy, you have _no idea_."

Dr Deaton was still choking on laughter when Stiles walked out of the clinic, allowing Derek to lend his support even though Stiles really didn't need it. That arm, those muscles… hnngh. Stiles could see some very specific masturbatory fantasies in his future featuring soon-to-be Dr Derek. Oh yeah, he'd _love_ to play naughty nurse to Derek's dirty doctor.

"So," Derek said, interrupting Stiles' increasingly kinky fantasies, "I know you said it was fine, but…" He ducked his head, cheeks pinking up as he bit his lip. "I'm really sorry I made you bump your head."

Stiles stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, turned to Derek, took his shoulders in both hands and leaned forward, putting on his most serious expression. "Derek, listen to the words coming out of my mouth. You are free to ring my bell _any time_."

**Author's Note:**

> So, my lovelies, as this is the final week of the Mating Games, why don't you head over to [Solicited Love: The Multifandom Prostitution Fest](http://solicited-love.livejournal.com) and sign up?! All fandoms are welcome, of course, but really? I WANT ALL THE TEEN WOLF HOOKER FIC! Pleeeeeeease?! Come and play with me!!


End file.
